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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423749">let's blow our feelings up with dynamite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmp_415/pseuds/jsmp_415'>jsmp_415</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kidnapped Q (James Bond), M/M, More tags to be added, Not Canon Compliant, R is not afraid of 007, Songfic, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:56:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmp_415/pseuds/jsmp_415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incident in Turkey, James Bond stays dead for as long as he can. But unable to resist the pull of duty, he returns to MI6 to find the list still missing, old Major Boothroyd murdered in cold blood, and a new Quartermaster who is over involved and determined to follow his every move. Three missions later, Bond finds Patrice in Shanghai but is no closer to finding the list than he was before. And he leaves a considerable amount of chaos in his wake, much to the frustration of Q.<br/>But the person who stole the list is getting impatient to decrypt it and after Bond's stunt in Shanghai, the new MI6 Quartermaster is tired and distracted. The perfect target to snatch up and bend to their will.</p>
<p>*An alternate Skyfall*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. walking around like no one knows i'm a sinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello all and welcome to my first James Bond fanfic. I'm basically throwing caution to the wind here and changing the way I post stories. If you are a Rickyl fan reading this, I have not abandoned my ongoing story, or that fandom! I bounce around so much when I actually write, I decided to do the same thing when I post. So, that being said, this is not finished, I have no idea when I'll post next, and this is my plan for now. If it doesn't work, I'll figure something else out. </p>
<p>This is basically an alternate Skyfall, inspired by let's blow our feelings up with dynamite by Emma Steinbakken. I was listening to it one day and realized how much it made me think of James Bond and just ran with it. Some things from Skyfall will be the same but there's a lot that won't be. I will update tags and warnings as I go. This fic will deal with torture and injuries will be described, I'll put warnings at the beginnings of that chapter. I'm a firm believer in giving fair warning, no matter how much it might give the story away. I also only deal with happy endings, so rest assured of that, even if I don't know how it'll end yet. </p>
<p>This story starts in Shanghai, at the end of Bond's fight with Patrice and skipping Macau entirely. The first few chapters are short, but they will get longer as I go.</p>
<p>Comments are always welcome, I just ask that you please be kind. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James walked out of the building calmly, as though it was just another day to be strolling about in Shanghai. But as soon as he was far enough away, a blast rent the air and the building went up in flames. James just buttoned his blazer and adjusted his cuff links. </p><p>All around him was chaos, people screaming, sirens blaring, everyone running to and fro to either get away from the flames or get to them and help. But he knew there would be no help to give. He was good at his job, too good in fact. And everyone in that building had already been dead before he blew it up. </p><p>It wasn’t necessarily according to plan, but then, missions rarely did such a thing. One could only predict so much of what was going to happen and people were unpredictable, especially when cornered.</p><p>He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he was surprised that it was still in one piece, but he ignored it for the time being. He’d turned off his comms long ago and no doubt it was the little kitten hissing and stretching its ineffectual claws. </p><p>His stride was calm and confident as he approached an alley and found a suitable car to break into. The job was done, regardless of how he did it, and he’d be expected to return to base as soon as possible. He didn’t doubt that an extraction was already underway, but he was pissed to the point of seriously considering hiding for a day or two. Just to irritate the bantam boffin a little more. But his phone buzzed again, this time for a phone call.</p><p>“Yes, mum?” He answered glibly, intuitively knowing who was calling.</p><p>“Bond, what the hell are you doing?” M yelled at him.</p><p>“My job,” his voice was hard. He heard her take a deep breath, like she was trying to calm herself.</p><p>“007, the extraction team will be with you in a few moments. You are to go with them and come back for your debrief. And I swear to God, Bond, if you cause trouble with this, you won’t see the outside of a cell for a month.” And the line went dead. </p><p>James pulled the car over, got out, and threw the phone in the nearest sewer and turned down another alley, where he knew five agents were waiting for him. He held up his hands in surrender and they showed their ids to him. It wasn’t the first time M threatened him, but it was the first time she used imprisonment on the first go. She was pissed and there would be no running from her this time. Might as well face mummy and get it over with, he thought as they escorted him to a secure car and took him to the nearest plane.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. try to stay calm, but being me ain't so easy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Q picked up the teacup and took a fortifying sip of Earl Grey. Which was unfortunately cold. He nearly spat it back out, but stopped himself just in time. <em>How long has that been sitting there?</em> He asked himself, glaring at the offending cup as if it was the tea’s fault he’d forgotten about it. </p>
<p>He leaned back in his chair rubbed his eyes. He’d been up for forty-eight hours straight. Not a record by any means, but he’d only achieved four hours of sleep between it and the previous thirty-six hour stretch. But everything was still in a complete mess and going home was not an option. </p>
<p>007 had blown up yet another building in a foreign country and M was spitting nails. The agent had the intel that Q provided, but much to the Quartermaster’s frustration, Bond ignored it and turned off his comms. Q always knew the agent preferred to work alone, but this was ridiculous. If only the man would let him, he could lead him down the right path relying on all the information he could find in a matter of seconds using his computer. But he staunchly held on to the belief that his experience in the field surpassed any and all of Q’s knowledge, no matter how useful.</p>
<p>His computer pinged and the interdepartmental chat window opened in the corner. A message from Tanner.</p>
<p>
  <em>Report to M’s office.</em>
</p>
<p>What little restraint Q had left broke, and he flung the cup of cold tea against the wall of his office. Leaving the broken pieces of china where they fell, he stood, straightened his jumper, and walked out of his office to the metaphorical guillotine, cursing James Bond under his breath. </p>
<p>An hour later and Q was pretty sure he had a completely new asshole from the reprimand he just had to suffer through. All that could really be said was that he’d been as stoic as possible when he explained to M what happened. At least she gave him the chance, he thought wryly. Honestly, she was simply pissed at 007 and took it out on him. So he let her rant, spoke whenever he felt it was safe enough to do so, and otherwise sat quietly in his chair until she’d screamed herself out. At least she told him he could go home. Bond was on his way back to London; he must remember to send a thank you to the extraction team for tracking the bastard down, and there was nothing more for him to do that night. </p>
<p>He walked back to his office, happy to see that someone cleaned up the broken tea cup, and gathered his things. He was exhausted, so much so that he couldn’t even be angry anymore. He was just numb and too tired to care or focus.</p>
<p>Which was why he didn’t think to ask for a driver home and instead walked in a daze from the River House to the Tube. And then from the Tube to his flat. At least that was the goal.</p>
<p>He was so tired, he wasn’t paying attention and never noticed the people who’d been following him advance on him quickly and quietly. The last thing he saw before the black bag was thrown over his head, was the door to the building of his flat, his loyal doorman slumped against it, shot through the head.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. have to smoke so i can see this shit clearer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James walked into headquarters at four in the morning, local time, hoping to avoid the usual crowd of the morning shift. Only to find MI6 as busy as it would normally be during a potential bomb threat. </p>
<p>“007, about bloody time,” M stalked up to him and he did his best to look unruffled.</p>
<p>“I came in to complete my AAR-”</p>
<p>“Don’t bother. It seems that our Quartermaster has been abducted.”</p>
<p>That almost flapped his unflappable demeanor. “Q?” </p>
<p>“Who else, 007. Do keep up,” she snapped and started walking away. He took the unspoken command as it was and followed her. They made their way to Q Branch, which was practically in a panic. R was frantically pounding away at the main keyboard that Bond knew was usually occupied by the new Q. </p>
<p>It was no secret that he and Q did not get on. From the first moment they met in the National Gallery they were constantly at odds. James missed the days of Boothroyd, who gave them the latest tech and sent them on their merry way. The new Q, he thought with derision, wanted contact, and to be involved. Which basically translated to mollycoddling and useless involvement while he was halfway around the world. He’d had three missions since he’d come back from the dead, the latest being in Shanghai where he managed to eradicate Patrice. He wasn’t able to locate the list, but neither had Q and James was sick and tired of hearing the over involved boffin in his ear. </p>
<p>That didn’t mean he wanted harm to come to the man. He knew a few of the other double ohs who welcomed the new Quartermaster’s help, mostly the younger ones. More than that, though, he was one of their own. And no one hurt one of their own without life threatening repercussions. Bond felt a flair of possessiveness but he didn’t want to analyze it too closely.</p>
<p>“He was taken just before he reached his flat ten hours ago,” M stated, pulling him from his thoughts. “R suspects that the people who stole the list have taken him to force him to decrypt it.”</p>
<p>“Why not have a criminal hacker try?”</p>
<p>“Considering how long they’ve had the list,” R spoke to him, “we think they’ve probably have. But Q <em>encrypted</em> it. There would be no one better to decrypt it. We also suspect someone has tried to hack into MI6 since the list was stolen.”</p>
<p>“Based on what?” Bond asked.</p>
<p>“There have been signs,” R answered, “obvious attempts to break in. Q was monitoring the situation very closely. He even attempted to draw them in but they must have sensed a trap, although I’m not sure how on earth they could. Whoever this is,” R hesitated for a moment, “they’re very good.”</p>
<p>“What about his tracker?”</p>
<p>“It’s still active,” R answered, “but there are signals interfering with it. Somehow,” she added in a frustrated hiss. “I can’t lock on to the signal long enough to trace it. But they haven’t removed it, which most likely means they haven’t found it, so that’s something.”</p>
<p>At least Bond was able to discern the map in front of him on the large screen. Orange lines were bouncing all over England, some moving out of the picture, but it seemed R was focusing on their country only. </p>
<p>James turned for the large screen and addressed M, “Do we know anything else about the attempts to hack us?”</p>
<p>“We do, actually,” M stepped forward, handing him the, surprisingly, full file.</p>
<p>He took it and opened it, reading the report with a practiced eye. All of the obvious attempts of hacking were documented thoroughly and the dates were what drew his attention. At first glance, they meant nothing to him, but then he noticed a pattern. They were every two days, as long as James was out of the country… on a mission. No attempts while he was “dead,” nor before Q was promoted to Quartermaster. Some of the dates coincided with missions of other Double Ohs, but never quite so exact. They started the day he left, continued every two days, and stopped once he was back in country. </p>
<p>“R,” he turned to the young woman, still pounding away at the keyboard, trying to pinpoint Q’s location, “would Q always handle my missions personally?” He saw M turn a bit and raise an eyebrow; she knew he never spoke without reason.</p>
<p>“Yes,” R answered, without looking away from the screen. “He said that you were the most difficult agent in MI6 and wouldn’t want to wish you on anyone else in Q branch.” The words were scathing and he heard M huff a laugh.</p>
<p>“You did realize that the only hacking attempts happened while I was on mission, then?”</p>
<p>At that, her fingers faltered and she glanced away from the screen for half a second. “You’re sure?”</p>
<p>“Of course I’m sure,” he replied, insulted. “What was Q like while he was running my missions?”</p>
<p>“Someone else answer him, I can’t deal with this bloody prick right now,” R raised her voice and James’ eyebrows shot up of their own accord. R didn’t even flush at the insult, her attention was fully on the computer. It seemed that she narrowed the trace down to just London, which was both good and bad. It narrowed the field of course, but London was huge and Bond couldn’t exactly go busting down every door to find Q.</p>
<p>“Sir,” one of the minions stepped up, brave even though he was visibly shaking, “if I may?”</p>
<p>“Go on,” M addressed him, reminding everyone just who was in charge here.</p>
<p>“Ma’am,” he turned, obviously relieved to not have to speak directly to 007, “Q wouldn’t let anyone else run 007’s ops. But,” his eyes cut to the agent, “because of the lack of… cooperation, he would end up doing twice the work. He rarely went home when 007 was abroad and if he slept, he would do so in his office.”</p>
<p>“So he was exhausted as well as distracted,” Bond surmised.</p>
<p>“I believe so, sir. But he never failed to document the attempts and he always tried to follow every clue the hacker left behind. Unfortunately, I believe… something always came up to take him away.”</p>
<p>“And by that you mean the clean up he felt that he needed to do after 007 left whatever destruction behind that he favored that day,” M stated.</p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p>
<p>“Go,” she shooed the minion away and then turned to James with fury in her eyes. He held his ground and kept his face passive, when truthfully he wanted to take a step back from the small woman. “I always said you were my most difficult agent, 007, now as far as I’m concerned you are just as responsible for what has happened to my Quartermaster as his kidnappers. You will stay here until R tells you otherwise. You will do whatever you’re told and you will bring the Quartermaster back. And afterwards you and I will be having a serious conversation about your future within this agency.” She started to leave and he suddenly felt the need to justify himself.</p>
<p>“I get the job done,” he said to her back.</p>
<p>“That’s why I’m sending you after him,” she replied and walked away without a backwards glance.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just a head's up, the next chapter is from Q's perspective and deals with his torture and injuries.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. tryna forget i'm bleeding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What's happening with Q</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here we go, as stated at the end of the last chapter, this deals with Q's kidnapping and torture. The torture itself is only described after the fact and more to detail the injuries that have been caused. If you would like to skip the details all together, it lasts two paragraphs and they start after "So the torture started," and are finished when the paragraph starts "He shook his head slowly" and there's a little bit more in the paragraph, "The last session really took a lot out of him." Unfortunately, this will not be the only time Q's injuries are mentioned and I can't promise the torture won't be talked about again. Writing torture is not something I'm used to and I think it's come off as somewhat detached, but I'm satisfied with the way the chapter came out so I don't want to change it. So I hope you... enjoy it? I don't really know the right sentiment here. Anyway, carry on.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Q took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Not that it helped the pain, but it kept him calm. Gave him something to focus on, making sure he didn’t hyperventilate. He’d gone through the training at MI6, everyone did. But being tortured in a clean environment by an agent you knew wasn’t going to truly hurt you was very different from what he was experiencing now. He could feel his back molar, where he knew his modified capsule was. God, cyanide was so last century. And not always effective. So he’d replaced it with something that he knew couldn’t fuck up. He ran his tongue over the tooth, thinking about it. Death, oblivion. But he couldn’t break the tooth yet. There was still more to learn here and on the off chance he was rescued, he wanted more information to bring back to MI6. He was still the Quartermaster, afterall, and information was power. Information saved lives. Information toppled empires, both good and bad. Information, especially in this day and age, was everything.</p><p>And Q knew so much information. If he didn’t already know it, he knew how to get it. How to manipulate it. How to turn it into a weapon. A useless weapon when a certain double oh agent didn’t care to use it.</p><p>He groaned as he rolled over on the hard concrete floor, partly from his bodily pain, but also partly from the thoughts that plagued him. Of course he would be thinking of 007 in his worst moments. The man infuriated him and since it was his mission that Q had been working on last, it made sense that Bond was on his mind. At least that’s what he told himself. He also told himself that he couldn’t be expected to think clearly at the moment.</p><p>He hurt everywhere. The men who grabbed him from outside his flat hadn’t hurt him at first. They’d been downright gentle as they carted him to wherever they were now, which he suspected to be somewhere in London. He knew they drove around for sometime, but there had been too many starts, stops, and random turns, to be anywhere but the city. Once they finally stopped, they dragged him into a building, tied him to a chair, and finally ripped the bag off his head. And he came face to face with Raoul Silva.</p><p>At least, that’s what the man called himself; Q doubted that was his real name. He tried to be stoic as he sat in front of the man, but there was something about him that made his skin crawl. Maybe it was the way he looked Q up and down as he talked, as though Q was the next place the man wanted to stick his cock. Maybe it was the way he praised him, starting his diatribe by highlighting Q’s genius, his rise in MI6, his groundbreaking code, his unparalleled skill that helped him encrypt the list on the computer database chip he held in his hand. The one Bond failed to recover, right in front of Q. The list that held the name of every agent that was in deep cover in more than a dozen terrorist organizations around the world.</p><p>As Silva went on in his monologue, Q learned that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t decrypt the list. What he didn’t learn was why he wanted to do so. That wasn’t on Silva’s agenda. What was, however, was making Q decrypt the list, which of course he refused to do. So the torture started. </p><p>First, it was a simple beating. Silva’s thugs took their turns throwing punches all over Q’s body. He was pretty certain that his nose was broken and he could only see out of one eye. He wasn’t sure about a few of his ribs; they felt broken, but it was possible they were only bruised. He knew his kidneys were bruised and his testicles were sore from being kicked repeatedly. But he wouldn’t give in. He refused to give up his agents. And he told them so right before he spat a glob of blood at the man holding his head up by his hair.</p><p>That was when they started to get creative. All the toes in his right foot were broken. He was now missing three fingernails on his left hand. His left shoulder had been dislocated and then popped back into place. Twice. There were large gashes on his chest where Silva himself dragged a knife up and down his skin. It was excruciating. He knew Bond would have held up better under the treatment; the man probably wouldn’t have even made a sound. But he wasn’t 007 and try as he might, he couldn’t stop from screaming himself hoarse. Couldn’t stop the tears of pain streaming down his face. Couldn’t stop from pissing himself when they pulled out his fingernails.<br/>
And yet through it all, Q never deterred, never faltered. He would not give up his agents. He said it so many times he could recite the words in his sleep at the point. The pain was not enough to shake his loyalty to MI6, to England. Maybe Bond would be proud of that, at least.</p><p>He shook his head slowly to try to dispel those thoughts again. Who the fuck cared what James Bond thought of him. He would most likely be dead soon. He wasn’t sure how long they had him; they took his watch away. But he was willing to bet it had only been a day or two. Silva worked quickly and wanted results. Since he wasn’t getting them, it was only a matter of time before he realized that Q would not break, and then he would finish the job. </p><p>The last session really took a lot of him. He was almost positive he blacked out twice. They tore his shirt from his torso and spent several long minutes taking turns dragging the dagger across his skin. When he still refused to cooperate, Silva made his thugs untie him, strip him of all his clothes, and drag him naked to his cell, which was just a cold, windowless room. They threw him to the floor hard. He tried to catch himself but he felt his wrist snap when the heel of his hand hit the floor. Q barely felt the pain. His body was nothing but pain. </p><p>Distantly, he heard the thugs laughing and making promises to start a different technique later. They thought they were being funny; Q knew what they meant. He was honestly surprised they hadn’t tried that already. It didn’t matter, he supposed, if they raped him in the end. He was still going to die here.</p><p>So he let his mind wander. He was a dying man after all, he could as he pleased. He thought of his life, how he wished he had more time. But everyone thought of that, didn’t they? That was the cliche. Well fine, he thought, so I’m a cliche. Cliche enough to daydream about certain infuriating, blonde haired, blue eyed double oh agents. </p><p>He let his mind drift to that first meeting. How his feet stopped when he saw the man he knew to be 007 sitting on that bench in the gallery. He was so… handsome. Such an unconventional attractiveness. And Q was ashamed to feel desire in his gut. So he threw up walls around his whole person, the kind made from rough stone that hurt if anyone tried to touch. He came off abrasive and James reacted accordingly. </p><p>
  <em>“It’s a little melancholy, don’t you think? A grand old war ship being hauled away for scrap. The inevitability of time.” He turned to look at the older agent. “What do you see?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bloody big ship,” he spat, “Excuse me,” and he got up to leave.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“007,” Q spoke and the agent stopped, “I’m your new Quartermaster.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You must be joking.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Why? Because I’m not wearing a labcoat?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Because you still have spots,” Bond answered through clenched teeth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Age is no guarantee of efficiency,” Q shot back, but 007 didn’t hesitate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Q took a deep breath to stifle his temper and was proud of himself when his voice came out steady. “As it is, I can do more damage with my laptop, in my pyjamas, before my first morning cup of Earl Grey than you can do a year in the field.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then why do you need me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Damn, he thought, Bond had him there. “Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Or not pulled,” Bond countered, “it’s hard to know which in your pyjamas. Tell me, do you prefer super heroes or little kitty cats?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know exactly when a trigger needs to be pulled, regardless of my state of dress.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the earwig. “Who do you think will be telling you where and when to fire.” He offered the device to him, but Bond didn’t take it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Now you are bloody joking.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t joke, 007, it’s unprofessional. I do, however, communicate with my agents at every possible opportunity. This is a permanent part of your kit, I expect you to treat it as such.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I am not going to run my mission with you in my ear.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Brave new world, 007. It’s a requirement.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you know what actually is a requirement? Thinking on your feet; improvising; knowing who to trust within seconds of meeting them; having the courage to get in the car when you don’t know who is driving, where they’re taking you, or even if you were the one they were expecting. That is a requirement that you only learn in the field, not behind a computer. You wouldn’t survive three minutes in my shoes and you will not presume to tell me what to do while I’m in the field.”</em>
</p><p><em>“Very well, 007,” Q stood, his patience running thin, and placed the earwig on the bench where he’d been sitting, “you can continue this conversation with M. She’ll have the rest of your essentials for this mission.” He took a step away and then turned back, “Oh and Bond? Do take the ear piece with you when you go. I’m sure she’ll enjoy hearing that her new policy is a bloody joke.” To his credit, Bond’s eyes were the only thing that reacted; they widened slightly to show his surprise and Q walked away with a little smirk, happy to know he’d wrong footed the famous agent. But by the time he’d left the gallery, he’d felt like a fool.</em> </p><p>What should have ended with a handshake and the delivering of a full, personalized kit, was the beginning of the worst working relationship he’d ever had. And now, in his last hours, Q wished he could go back, let 007 win the round and adapt to his style, instead of forcing him to learn Q’s, even go so far as to make an exception to M’s communication policy. Things could have been different between them, they might have even been friends. Now, Q was quite certain the agent wouldn’t bat an eye at his demise. That hurt more than he wanted to admit.</p><p>Q shivered on the concrete floor, coming back to the present and feeling every ache in his body and his heart. He didn’t want to die. But really, what other option was there. Either his body would finally decide it had had enough, Silva would put a bullet in his head, or he would break the tooth and do it himself. An option in which he survived never even occurred to him.</p><p>But then he heard gunshots, screams, running feet. The cacophony of sounds echoed in the building and he wanted to lift his head, crawl to the door, and call out for help. But he couldn’t. He was too weak. He couldn’t even start to comprehend the possibilities of what was happening outside his door. So he just listened. And eventually the screams and the gun fire stopped. The quiet was almost worse than the noise and Q curled in on himself to try to block it out. The quiet, the cold, the pain. He wished he could block everything out, but that became impossible when the door to his cell crashed open. His back was to it but he flinched hard at the noise, which was followed by more silence, until…</p><p>“Oh god. Q?” Asked the voice he never thought he’d hear again. He tried to turn his head, but whimpered at the pain. “No, don’t move.”</p><p>Q heard footsteps and the rustle of fabric and then he felt hands on him. He tried to get away, purely out of reflex, but the voice calmed him.</p><p>“It’s alright, Q. It’s Bond. It’s James. You’re safe. It’s alright now.” And then he felt something heavy and warm covering his shoulder and side. 007’s suit jacket. Because only James Bond would attack a group of terrorists in a bespoke suit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. i just stay calm but being me ain't so easy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More descriptions of Q's injuries but from Bond's perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James placed his suit jacket over his Quartermaster as gently as possible. Very little surprised him anymore, he’d seen too much in the field. But he’d be lying now if he said he wasn’t shocked to his core. He assumed when Q was taken that his kidnappers would try to force him to decrypt the list. He also assumed they would turn to torture, because Q would never give up MI6 secrets on his own. What he didn’t expect was the level of damage, nor that Q could survive such treatment. Bruises were blossoming in multiple colors across his back and James knew it was only the tip of the iceberg. He moved slowly around to the front of the Quartermaster to get a better look at him. And then suddenly wished he hadn’t.</p>
<p>Q’s right eye was swollen shut, cuts littered his chest, no rhyme or reason to them. They were just shallow enough to not need stitches. His left shoulder looked… off for some reason; even under the suit jacket, James could tell it had been injured somehow. Q’s breath was in shallow pants, making him suspect broken ribs. His eyes kept moving down, to where Q was cradling his hands against his stomach. The right wrist was swollen, but his left hand- James felt like he’d been punched in the gut when he saw three fingernails missing on his left hand.</p>
<p>“Oh, Q,” he whispered but from the lack of reaction he wasn’t sure the Quartermaster heard him. He continued his inspection, traveling down. He was going to let his eyes slide over Q’s nakedness, out of respect, but the size of the other man’s testicles made him stop. He closed his eyes as he felt the ghost of that pain wash over him. No one should be forced to suffer that. He sighed and hung his head. There was nothing he could do now to change what happened; all he could do was take care of Q from that moment on, no matter what. Because the man didn’t know it yet, but this wasn’t over. James had failed and Q was still in danger. </p>
<p>He raised his head and saw one green eye staring at him and he froze. “Foot,” Q whispered.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You… missed…” the words were such a struggle for him to get out, “foot.”</p>
<p>James looked down and saw what Q was trying to tell him. All the toes on his right foot were misshapen. Broken and then twisted, to maximize the pain he assumed. </p>
<p>“Is that all of it?” He asked, realizing that Q had been tracking him the whole time, watching him while he cataloged the injuries. Q nodded and closed his eye. “I have to call Medical.” At that, Q’s eye snapped open again and he was about to protest. “I have to, Q,” James insisted gently. He reached out with a hesitant hand and cupped Q’s jaw, the touch so gentle their skin barely brushed together. “I’ll make sure only the most essential people are there, I promise you.” Q’s eye closed, scrunched as though he was in pain. “I’ll keep you safe, Q. I’ll be there the whole time.” He had no idea where the words came from, but he knew they were true as soon as they left his mouth. He had to reassure Q and if the promise of a skeleton Medical crew wasn’t enough, then James wouldn’t leave his side. “Do you believe me?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Q rasped out, no hesitation, another shock to James’ soul. </p>
<p>For the past three missions, James didn’t trust Q. He knew that. Q knew that. Trust in their game was the hardest won prize and James had been burned before. He trusted himself and no one else. So he refused the help of the new Quartermaster, refused to trust him. And now, Q was trusting James without question. James didn’t deserve that trust and it was a tremendous weight to bear. He nodded and removed his hand to dig his mobile out of his pocket.</p>
<p>“James,” Q’s voice was loud in the void and he almost dropped the device he’d been dialing on. He looked up, blue eyes locking on to that piercing green and froze. “I’m glad… it was… you,” he panted before he passed out, his body going lax.</p>
<p>“Dammit!” James rushed to dial the number and Tanner answered it immediately. “It’s Bond.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“What have you got?”</em>
</p>
<p>“I have the Quartermaster. Three hostiles dead, another two left in a car. I can give the plate number in a moment. Tanner, I need medical transport, but I want this kept quiet. The whole bloody organization doesn’t need to see Q like this.”</p>
<p><em>“Hold the line, 007,”</em> Tanner answered in a clipped voice. James stood up and went about searching the rest of the building now that he knew Q wasn’t going anywhere. He’d already secured it but he’d spent the minutes after that looking for Q, not bothering with any other detritus lying around. He was gathering up papers that looked promising when Tanner came back on.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Bond? Medical is on their way. Dr. Conroy and a small team are overseeing everything from transport to surgery, if needs be. All non essential personnel are being sent home. In Q-Branch as well. R has been informed and is overseeing the exodus.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Thank you, Tanner.”</p>
<p><em>“20 minutes out, 007.”</em> And the line went dead.</p>
<p>Bond spent those twenty minutes pacing back and forth between the rest of the building and Q’s cell. Any time he walked away from the injured boffin, he felt an inexorable pull to return to his side. He had to check he was still breathing, had to check he hadn’t woken up, had to check he wasn’t bleeding anywhere else. He always found an excuse to return to him. He still gathered papers, intel, anything at the scene that might be useful to figuring out who took Q.</p>
<p>James wished that he would be more helpful with that endeavor, but he barely got a glimpse of the man he assumed to be the leader of the group before he and a henchman escaped through a back door. The other three were busy preventing him from gaining further entry to their little hideout, not that they were successful, he thought wryly. The best information they would be able to get would be from Q, but that wouldn’t happen for a few hours, at the very least. There was a part of James that wanted to chase after the men who escaped. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Q. And he didn’t know why.</p>
<p>It was a very long twenty minutes. When Conroy finally arrived, James was kneeling beside the Quartermaster, pushing his dark, flyaway hair away from his bruised face.</p>
<p>“How is he?” The doctor asked.</p>
<p>“He lost consciousness just before I called Tanner. He hasn’t moved since,” James couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice and he didn’t miss the sharp look Susan gave him.</p>
<p>“His body is under a lot of stress, it’s not surprising. It might make transporting him easier.” She directed the two others from the medical staff and they gently eased Q on the stretcher, leaving James’ suit coat on him for modesty’s sake and carted him out of the building. James followed closely, his eyes never leaving the Quartermaster. He looked even worse in the cloudy daylight, sallow and drawn, his features pinched in pain even in his unconscious state. When they loaded him in the nondescript van, James started to climb in with them.</p>
<p>“What are you doing, Bond?” Conroy asked skeptically.</p>
<p>“I’m going with you,” he answered dryly, clambering in.</p>
<p>“No you’re not,” she countered, but it said with disbelief. As though he was acting in the most unexpected way, and he supposed he was.</p>
<p>“Yes I am. I’m not leaving him. My orders were to recover the Quartermaster; I’m following orders.”</p>
<p>“You never follow orders,” she pointed out as the doors were shut. </p>
<p>James considered his next words very carefully. This was most definitely out of character for him and no doubt the good doctor would never let him live it down. He could have told her anything, a cheeky quip, an excuse, a lie. He decided on the truth. “I promised him, Susan. I’m not leaving him.”</p>
<p>She considered him with a critical eye before taking a deep breath. “Carry on then,” and she got to work taking care of Q.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. i'm really losing it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Q regained consciousness, he was barely coherent, but he could hear voices over him, fingers prodding him, needles sticking him. He tried to move but everything was agony and his limbs felt heavy.</p>
<p>“Easy Quartermaster,” a soft voice tried to soothe him, “just another moment and it’ll all be over.”</p>
<p>What will be over? Q wanted to ask but he couldn’t make his mouth work. He could make out the sound of a door opening and footsteps entering.</p>
<p>“Oh, hello Chris,” the familiar voice of Dr Conroy filled his ears. “I thought you’d gone home.”</p>
<p>“No doc, I-“</p>
<p>“What is that?” Q’s head automatically turned toward 007’s voice, even though it was hard as steel and colder than ice.</p>
<p>“Oh, um, it’s just… something for the pain,” Chris answered and Q realized it was Chris Johnson, a nurse in Medical. He was able to open his eyes but his glasses were gone and he could just barely make out the three blobs that were humans surrounding his bed.</p>
<p>“You’re lying,” Bond responded and Q didn’t need his glasses to know he’d drawn his gun. </p>
<p>“Chirs,” Susan spoke in an even voice, “put the syringe down.”</p>
<p>Syringe? Lying about a pain killer? Q’s brain tried to keep up with the dialogue and the conclusions he was able to draw were not comforting.</p>
<p>“007,” he managed to get out his plea but it was largely ignored. At least he thought so. He couldn’t see James Bond’s piercing blue eyes flicker to him for half a second before training back onto the nurse at his bedside.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Chris said, “b-b-but… what does it matter anyway? He doesn't want him back. He just wants him dead.” Q was very much on the verge of panicking but he still couldn’t get his limbs to operate.</p>
<p>“Who?” 007 pressed.</p>
<p>“Raoul Silva,” Chris whispered. </p>
<p>A gunshot rang out in the room and Q retreated back into oblivion. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~0Q0~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second time Q was aware, he was moving. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing was that he was sitting upright… and moving. It didn’t make sense. He closed his good eye and tried to figure out how he’d gotten in his current state. Flashes came to him behind his eyes. Silva, the chip, broken bones, missing fingernails, nurses in Medical, gunshots. Bond. </p>
<p>Q’s eyes, well one eye, opened and he tried to look around but the movement caused a sharp pain in his head and he hissed as it throbbed.</p>
<p>“Steady, Q,” a rich voice rumbled on his right.</p>
<p>“Bond?” </p>
<p>“Still here,” he answered and Q could hear his grin. </p>
<p>“Where are we?”</p>
<p>“I think the more appropriate question would be where are we going?”</p>
<p>“Alright then,” he groaned, “where are we going?”</p>
<p>“Back in time,” he answered cryptically, but Q succumbed to pain and exhaustion and fell asleep before he could ask anything else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~0Q0~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third time Q was coherent, he was in the arms of James Bond, cradled against his chest as though he was something precious and breakable.</p>
<p>“James?”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Q,” he soothed and Q could feel that he was moving again but it was a slow, rocking motion.</p>
<p>“Where are we?”</p>
<p>“A safe place,” his answer was cryptic again as he shouldered open the door. “Kincade?”</p>
<p>“In here, laddie,” a deep Scottish brogue called and Q wanted to lift his head and see but the agent stopped him before he could even move. </p>
<p>“Careful. Don’t try to move.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got the main bedroom ready and warm,” the man Q assumed was Kincade told Bond.</p>
<p>Q forced himself to stay awake and he felt Bond walk up a flight of stairs. He didn’t dare move his head and kept it tucked in that sweet spot where Bond’s neck met his shoulder. The agent carried him as though he weighed no more than a rag doll. </p>
<p>After another minute Bond stopped and Q felt himself being lowered and then placed on something soft. It was warm wherever he was and he felt himself sinking back into sleep, just as he sank into what could only be the most comfortable bed in the whole country. </p>
<p>“Rest, Q,”  Bond said as he pulled the duvet up to his shoulders. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”</p>
<p>“James,” he exhaled before the darkness claimed him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. it's getting late i'm way too drunk into my feelings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James Bond sat in an armchair next to his parents’ old bed, where his Quartermaster was currently asleep. The fire in the hearth warmed the room, but he barely felt it. He could, however, feel the dried blood on his skin, soaking his shirt, knew he needed to change and shower. But he couldn’t leave Q. Even though the likelihood of them being found at Skyfall was negligible, he couldn’t risk it. At least, that was the excuse he gave himself.</p><p>“Tougher than he looks, isn’t he?” Kincade’s gruff voice asked from just behind his shoulder. Years of training was the only thing that kept him from jumping out of his skin. It was a mark of how distracted he was that the old man was able to get that close without him realizing it. </p><p>James didn’t reply for a moment, during which Kincade handed him a glass of scotch. He swirled it around, looking down at the amber liquid before taking a fortifying sip. </p><p>“Tougher than I gave him credit for,” he admitted. </p><p>“You should go get cleaned up.”</p><p>“I should,” James agreed but he didn’t move.</p><p>“You won’t will you?” Kincade asked, knowing him too well, even though they hadn’t seen each other in years.</p><p>James sighed. “No, I won’t.”</p><p>“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Are you ever going to stop doing that?” All his life, Kincade could read him better than anyone else ever had. Even his parents. Even… her.</p><p>“Are you ever going to stop being a jumped up little shit?”</p><p>James huffed a laugh through his nose and couldn’t stop the smile that drastically changed his features. </p><p>“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted. “The house looks…”</p><p>“Good?”</p><p>“Liveable,” he finished and it was Kincade’s turn to laugh. </p><p>“Indeed it is. We updated everything after they declared you dead, hoping to sell it sooner. You came back to life just in time.”</p><p>“How fortunate,” James deadpanned. </p><p>“You can be cheeky all you like,” Kincade’s voice turned heated, “but this great old lady has always been here for you whenever you needed her. And that’s not likely to change anytime soon.” He clapped a hand on James’ shoulder and left then, knowing exactly what his words would do to the younger man.</p><p>It was true that in the past, he’d made his derision of Skyfall no secret. He’d threatened to sell it many times while he was in the Navy, when he joined MI6. But for some unknown, ridiculous reason he never could follow through on the threat. He kept paying Kincade to look after the old place but he rarely visited. In fact, this was only the second time he’d done so since leaving Skyfall as a boy. </p><p>But the more he pondered Kincade’s words, the more he realized that he was right. For all his bluster that he hated the house, it was the one place he came to when the world became too much. Which wasn’t often. But there were three times in his life that he retreated into Skyfall and there was a pattern, even if he didn’t want to admit it.</p><p>The first time had been the day Kincade told him his parents were dead. A climbing accident, a vacation during which he’d been left behind. When the old gamekeeper told him, he ran. Ran away from the little cottage Kincade lived in. Away from the stables he loved so much. Away from the moor where he played. He ran to the house, pushed the latch in the wainscoting, and hid in the priest’s hole. He laid on the ground, in the bowels of Skyfall and cried for his parents. He cried and screamed and railed at God. And though he’d only been a boy, he blamed himself, knew if he had been there he could have helped them somehow. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. But when all the tears were finally leached from his soul, he climbed back out knowing he would face the world on his own from then on out. </p><p>The second time he came to Skyfall was much more recent. It was after Vesper died. After he caused mayhem in Bolivia. After he confronted that conniving, spineless man she’d betrayed him for. He came here and allowed himself to grieve. That process involved quite a few bottles of scotch, several broken glasses, an indeterminable amount of teacups he used for target practice, and ten sticks of dynamite he held in his lap while he seriously considered blowing the place to kingdom come and him along with it. Thankfully, he reconsidered that idea when he was sober. And he left, colder than before, but alive and determined to never make such a mistake again.</p><p>And now, he was here for a third time. Seeking sanctuary not only for himself, but for the young man he never expected to see alive again. If there was any place safe for Q, it was Skyfall. The name of the old lodge wasn’t even in his files; he’d made sure of it. Silva wouldn’t find them, unless James decided he wanted to be found. It was a possibility that he kept in the back of his mind, but not one he seriously considered at the moment. Q was in no shape for a fight and at the very least… he’d want Q in his ear to help. </p><p>That was the thought that kept coming back to haunt him. If they’d worked together like Q wanted, they probably would have found the damn list by now. M always said regret was unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop it from settling across his shoulders like a heavy yoke. </p><p>He took another sip of scotch, trying to forget the events of the past… god, however many hours it had been. Honestly, he didn’t even know what day it was, not that he particularly cared. But knowing would have given him something to focus on, something more constructive than the deadly, fruitless images flashing in his mind every time he closed his eyes. </p><p>“Regret is unprofessional,” he murmured to remind himself yet again.</p><p>“Indeed it is, 007,” came a soft voice from the bed, “doesn’t make it easier to push away though.”</p><p> </p><p>~0Q0~</p><p> </p><p>The words were hard to get out. His throat felt drier than a desert, his mouth tacky. Bond, to his credit, didn’t even hesitate. He flew to the bed and opened a bottle of water that he immediately put to Q’s lips. Q tried to lift his hands and grab it himself, but the agent pushed him, with uncharacteristic gentleness, and kept control of the bottle.</p><p>“I can do it,” he grumbled.</p><p>“Sure, Q,” James mollified and just pressed the bottle until the water was gliding over his tongue and then he couldn’t stop from trying to gulp it all in one go. But he didn’t get the chance because Bond pulled it away before he was halfway finished.</p><p>“007, bring that back,” he ordered, but even to his own ears it was the weakest command he’d ever given. James Bond had scoffed at much more forceful demands, so it was no surprise that he didn’t listen.</p><p>“Not just yet, Quartermaster,” he replied sadly. “Let’s see if you keep that down first. Did they give you anything to drink while-”</p><p>“No, Bond,” Q interrupted, getting stroppy without meaning to do so. “that’s why I’m so damned thirsty.”</p><p>The agent gave a little chuckle, which seemed forced to Q, before continuing. “They gave you fluids in Medical, you aren’t in danger of dehydration.” He paused and Q could tell he was gauging how his next words would be received. He kept his face blank; at least, he hoped he did. “Silva had you for almost two whole days. With nothing to eat or drink, Q, your stomach is going to be a little sensitive. If you keep that down, you can have the rest.”</p><p>Q sighed and looked away, “Very well, 007.” He didn’t want to dwell on why he now needed to be so careful. But that was impossible. His very body was a reminder of what happened. He wasn’t sure if there was a single inch that didn’t hurt. His quick mind started cataloging his injuries but that brought the unbidden images of how he received them and he had to make that stop at once. He cast his mind around for something to say, but what came out was not exactly a distraction from the situation. “I suppose Chris Johnson is no longer in the land of the living?” He meant it to be a statement, but it ended in a question. He kept his stare resolutely on the stone wall and not on the man beside him.</p><p>“You remember that?”</p><p>“I do,” he answered softly, regretfully. The memory was blurry and dark, but it was there nonetheless.</p><p>“You are correct in your assumption.”</p><p>“I usually am,” he replied, but it was devoid of his usual confident, some would say pompous, tone. </p><p>“Q?” James asked but he didn’t turn. “What do you need?” </p><p>Q repressed a shiver. The question was actually a plea. James Bond was pleading with him, which meant he didn’t know what to do. In their short time working together, Q couldn’t remember a single instance when Bond didn’t know what to do. But to be fair, he didn’t know either. He didn’t know what he needed. His mind was swirling round and round, no solution to settle on. So, surprisingly, he answered the question honestly.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he whispered, slightly ashamed at admitting such a thing. It was frustrating. He was better than this. So he’d been tortured. It could have been worse. Would have been worse, if Bond hadn’t arrived when he did. He wished that he couldn’t remember everything so clearly. Or, he amended, almost everything. Which begged the question, “Bond, where on earth are we?” He finally turned his head slowly to look back at James, who was smiling slightly.</p><p>“Scotland,” he answered. “Specifically, my ancestral home, Skyfall.”</p><p>“I didn’t know you had an ancestral home,” Q tried to snigger at the absurdity but it hurt. Damn ribs, he thought.</p><p>“Easy there, Q,” James tried to soothe, knowing what caused his pain. </p><p>“Are any of them broken?”</p><p>“No, just cracked. But I’ve been given strict orders to make sure you take it easy.”</p><p>“Hard to do that if we’re on the run,” he pointed out.</p><p>“Indeed. But we should be safe here for quite some time. This place isn’t even in my paper files, let alone the electronic ones and I was very careful getting us up here.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Q interrupted briefly.</p><p>“And from what I understand, M has 006 on Silva’s trail now.”</p><p>“You don’t know for certain?” He was surprised at that. </p><p>James looked at him for a moment, as though he was searching for his words. “Q,” he took a deep breath and then let it out slowly, “no one but M knows that I even took you and even then, she doesn’t know where we are. After what happened with Chris…” he trailed off and Q flinched, “I didn’t even leave the room to take the body out. M called me, said we had a mole and you were in my care. I think Susan must have known something was up, since she left all of your medications, instructions, even extra supplies in the room. I carried you out of Medical, no one with wiser. We’ve gone dark for this mission, Quartermaster.”</p><p>Q let this information sink in, pushing aside the memory he had of being in Bond’s arms and hating that he couldn’t remember being carried by the agent out of Medical. He focused on the important points and when he did, voiced a most crucial question. “How on earth are we supposed to know when it’s safe to leave?” Q asked with just a little bit of fear. Regardless of his more embarrassing inclinations, the thought of being stuck with 007 for an indeterminate amount of time was at the very least unsettling.  </p><p>“Alec will let me know,” he answered, completely confident. Q rolled his eyes, happy to find at least one motion didn’t cause him ridiculous agony.</p><p>“Through telepathy, no doubt,” he snarked back. </p><p>“Regardless,” Bind waved the comment away, “I’ve been ordered to protect the Quartermaster, no matter how long or dire the situation.”</p><p>“How unfortunate for you,” Q couldn’t help the self deprecating words and sighed again, anticipating the ache in his chest. Not that it actually helped. </p><p>“Q,” Bond exclaimed softly, looking for all the world like the comment had actually hurt him.</p><p>“Oh come now, Bond,” he scoffed without any heat. He looked away from the man again. “Let’s not pretend this is what either of us wants.”</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>Q whipped his head around, shocked and slightly hurt at how quickly James would agree.</p><p>“What I want is for Silva to be dead and MI6 to be safe. The list back in our hands and a healthy Quartermaster to lord over all us difficult double ohs.”</p><p>“Bond,” he gasped out softly, surprised at the vehemence of the agent’s words and the fact that he was truly serious. This time, the double oh looked away from him, but that didn’t stop Q from seeing the pained expression on his face.</p><p>“I haven’t been the easiest to get along with,” he admitted. </p><p>Q swallowed audibly, recognizing the apology for exactly what it was. “Nor have I.”</p><p>“If we had done things your way, we would already have the list back.”</p><p>“You don’t know that, James,” the agent’s name came out softer than he intended. But he couldn’t take it back now. </p><p>“Silva wouldn’t have taken you if I hadn’t been so bloody proud,” the words seemed to pour from him without him even realizing it. </p><p>“James, stop,” he ordered, dropping a hand on top of Bond’s to pull his attention away from whatever dark place his thoughts were heading. “This isn’t your fault.” He took a shallow breath, anything else wasn’t worth the pain. “If anything, it’s mine.” <em>That</em> got his attention. Those piercing blue eyes snapped to his own and Q thought that maybe James Bond had the ability to see into his soul. He felt flayed open and laid bare, even more so than when Silva made his thugs brutalize his body. But instead of causing agonizing pain, 007’s scrutiny felt more like a curious child wanting to solve a puzzle and thinking that if he stared at it long enough he could figure it out. </p><p>“Q-“</p><p>“No listen to me,” he insisted. “It is. You were right. The first day we met. If I’d only listened to you, followed your lead, <em>trusted</em> you and your experience, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” He stopped and pondered over the whole picture for a moment. “Honestly, if M had trusted you in Turkey, Patrice might never have gotten away.”</p><p>“What did you do? Bug her flat?”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>James chuckled, “Nevermind.”</p><p>“Can’t we just agree that we’ve both made mistakes?” Q implored.</p><p>“First time for everything, I suppose,” James mused.</p><p>“Indeed, 007,” Q smiled as best he could. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve kept that ridiculously small amount of water down. I think it’s time for the rest.”</p><p>James Bond threw his head back and laughed, his eyes dancing as he grabbed the water bottle. “Whatever you say, Quartermaster.” And he pressed the bottle back to Q’s lips.</p>
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